Send us your photos and video of Anzac Day - click here
The latest Lonely Planet Guide to Turkey urges New Zealanders to stay away from Gallipoli on Anzac Day. The call came in response to suggestions that a crush of visitors today (April 25) will overwhelm the site.
It has also been reported that solemnity has sometimes been found wanting amongst a minority of visitors. Consideration must be given to managing the flow of visitors in and out of the Gallipoli peninsula. Missing from the discussion has been much reflection on why young New Zealanders and Australians in their thousands are drawn to Anzac Cove.
Anzac Cove and the Gallipoli peninsula are sacred places. That is indisputable - 2721 New Zealanders died there, with tens of thousands of Australian, British, French and Turkish troops. To forget that the place is a mass grave is unacceptable.
But most visitors come to commemorate exactly that. They come because of a belief that there is some knowledge to be had, some experience to be felt, some spirit to be met that can only be encountered on the shores of Gallipoli. Australian historian Manning Clark called it "something too deep for words".
Typically, they find that something, in tearful reflection and ebullient mateship. At the 2002 observances, I was amongst them. During the service, all war veterans were invited to sit in a reserved section.
A lone Turkish war veteran rose and began his shuffling journey towards the front. And several thousand New Zealanders and Australians leapt to their feet and gave him a standing ovation while he was embraced by Anzac war veterans and seated amongst them.
As conflicts persist in many parts of the world, we are reminded that some prejudices die very hard, some stereotypes are too easily and frequently reverted to, some differences appear irreconcilable. Yet, at dawn on a Turkish beach, old bitterness evaporated in an instant.
The Gallipoli peninsula - skinny and ragged with cliffs, is as ill-suited to a mass influx of Australians and New Zealanders as it was in 1915. Every April 26, the sod must be re-sown and the paths re-built.
The balance between preservation and commemoration of the historic site must be struck somewhere. But that is an argument for fixing the number of entrants in advance, for ticketing the event or for preventing people sleeping overnight at the site.
That is an argument for a ban on alcohol, for adjusting the programme to convey the solemnity of the occasion.
The huge majority of visitors to Anzac Cove behave fittingly. It would be a shame if they felt unwelcome because of that minority of visitors.
The vigorous debates over the future of the Anzac commemorative sites at Gallipoli are coming to a head.
But underlying those debates should be a goal of welcoming visitors of many nationalities to a vibrant, living memorial to our honoured dead.
It is often said that Gallipoli is a "country of the mind". But the physical place matters too.
As war memorials go, Gallipoli is unusual. It is rare for a foreign government to welcome descendants of former enemies as comrades. It would be tragic indeed if the ground were to shift beneath that relationship.
There are doubtless more discussions to be had about improvements to the commemorative site. But one thing remains.
To stand on the shores of Gallipoli or in the shadow of Lone Pine; to pause at the graves of young men even younger than oneself is an incomparable experience.
Young people will almost certainly not stay away. That is not an act of defiance or rebellion. It is an act of solidarity, of gratitude, of recognition.
The need to stand on that soil surpasses logic and understanding. But it is deeply felt nonetheless. Something too deep for words indeed. Lest we forget.
Julia Fetherston is a young Australian currently living in New Zealand. In 2002 she attended the Anzac Day services in Gallipoli as a recipient of the Australian Government's Simpson Prize.
